


Daffodils

by skylinehorizon



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Hospitals, Implied Castiel/Dean Winchester, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Season 8
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-09
Updated: 2013-08-09
Packaged: 2017-12-22 22:14:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/918644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skylinehorizon/pseuds/skylinehorizon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel knows a way to get Naomi to stop listening.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Daffodils

The ward smells of daffodils.

The ward smells of daffodils, blood and the perpetual lingering scent of antiseptic. 

"How did you get here?"

I fell. I’m sorry, I don’t remember anything else. My back? I must have landed on something sharp. 

"Is there anyone we can call for you?"

Cas shifts uncomfortably on the bed; feels the muscles of his back stretch, the stitches tight and uncomfortable like nails in his skin.  

He shakes his head. Not yet. 

The blood stuck under his fingernails for the longest time. He’d clawed and clawed at his shoulders, as far as he could reach, and peeled away the soft flesh. The sensation will never leave him, the sting of grace as it’s pulled and stretched and finally torn from each fibre of his being, trickling like acid out of his vessel.

When they found him he’d been collapsed in a pool of his own blood, rivulets in the lines of his palms like stigmata. Ironic. He’d never felt farther from the Lord. 

Along his left forearm is a string of numbers written in black marker pen. Each time they begin to fade he writes them back on. The nurses always ask, and he always smiles, gives a shake of his head and asks for a glass of water. 

They always give him a sad smile, but they always let him get away with it.

Hospital corners and sterile bandages, blood pressure that's taken by the hour and the constant buzzing and beeping of machines. Welcome to humanity. 

The doctor checks Cas’ wound for the last time, says he's fit to go once they sort out insurance, and sends along a nurse who helps him to get out of bed and dressed. 

"Is there anyone who can come for you?"

"No."

Not yet. 

He’s clumsy and his bones don’t quite move right. He drowns beneath Jimmy Novak’s trenchcoat like a too-big second skin that doesn't belong.  

He slips outside the hospital during the staff changeover, finds a bench, and he sits. He sits and he waits. 

He waits and he prays and he feels the hollow spaces within him that were once filled with his grace slowly shrivel and shrink.

He sits there until the daylight turns to dusk and he’s recited his prayers over and over. There's no answer. There’s no one listening at all.

He smiles and stands up, unsteady on weak legs, and heads towards the nearest payphone, pushing coins from Jimmy Novak's pants into the slot. He rolls his sleeves up, looks down at the faded marks on his left arm and dials the numbers. 

_Cas… Cas? Is that you?_

“It’s okay. I’m safe. They’re not listening anymore. Dean — she isn’t listening.”

_Cas? Where are you, buddy? What did you do?_

Cas recites the address of the hospital, tells Dean not to worry, and listens to the sound of the Impala’s door slam shut. The beeping of the disconnected phone is accompanied by a wave of relief. 

He’s free. 


End file.
